


Carbon Copy

by Blinkingkills (alexwhitewell), plingo_kat



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 07:04:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3560576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexwhitewell/pseuds/Blinkingkills, https://archiveofourown.org/users/plingo_kat/pseuds/plingo_kat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If anybody asks Roxy about it (and they never do) she would say that it’s all a bit creepy, isn’t it, the way Eggsy practically becomes a clone of Agent Galahad. He even adopts the name -- Galath, as a concession to Galahad’s continued health.</p><p>Or, five times Eggsy acts exactly like Harry Hart, and Merlin finally buys a clue.</p><p>Translation into Mandarin is now available <a href="http://pompelmouserin.lofter.com/post/489ce6_69cb4fc">[here]</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Carbon Copy

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to [this prompt](http://dressing-room3.livejournal.com/405.html?thread=40341#t40341) on the kingsman kinkmeme.
>
>> The two Galahads appreciate their Merlin. Eggsy and Harry go into seductive super spy mode on their handler. (AU where Harry come back from the "dead" I guess and they both have the same codename idk).
>> 
>> \+ Harry and Eggsy are in full Galahad mode; they wear the same suits, ties and evern aftershave and behave like they're two of the same person.
> 
>   
> EDIT: also, alexwhitewell aka [blinkingkills](http://blinkstep.com/) @ tumblr has illustrated the fic!
> 
>  
> 
> plingokat @ twitter

 

o.

If anybody asks Roxy about it (and they never do) she would say that it’s all a bit creepy, isn’t it, the way Eggsy practically becomes a clone of Agent Galahad. He even adopts the name -- Galath, as a concession to Galahad’s continued health. Kingsman agents don’t retire, the passing of titles isn’t a matter of paperwork or signatures; Kingsman agents die in the line of duty, and the inheritance of names is always soaked in whisky and blood.

But despite all that, even she has to admit it’s kind of cute. The two of them, Galahad and Galath, striding down the halls together in matching suits and tie, hair styled the same, shoes the same. In fact, the only visible difference is the color of their pocket squares. Galahad has a beautiful rose cloth, pink and fragile and lovely; Galath has plum, rich and dark. Even those compliment each other.

It drives Merlin _mad_.

Not so much as anybody would notice, but Roxy has exceptional observational skills. It’s part of what got her tapped for Kingsman. And Merlin is fond of her, which is always good -- the organization is ninety five percent support staff, and an agent’s life will be infinitely better if they actually like you. Eggsy doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo yet; he’s still stuck on Galahad, trailing around after the older man like a particularly smitten puppy. Galahad must be _fully_ aware. He’s been friends with Merlin for years, after all.

Which is why she can’t figure out why he’s rubbing Merlin’s face in it.

 

i.

“Galahad,” Merlin growls, and both Harry _and_ the boy turn around with matching expressions of ironic inquiry.

“Yes?” At least the correct man answers. Merlin doesn’t know what he’d do if Eggsy were the one to open his mouth. Something he’d regret later, probably. Maybe.

 _”If_ you would deign to direct your attention here.” Agents. Merlin department comes up with one of the fancy new gadgets they’re always asking for, and do they have the decency to pay attention when he’s explaining how it works? Of course not.

“Of course, my apologies.” Galahad moves to stand behind Merlin’s shoulder, just a bit closer than is professional. Eggsy slouches over as well, draping himself around the arm of Merlin’s chair. “Do go on.”

Merlin casts them both a suspicious look out of the corner of his eye. Harry’s face is attentive, polite, engaged; Eggsy’s is less polite, more inquisitive.

“Fine.” Merlin flicks a finger; the cufflinks in front of him make a faint _ting_ noise. “In addition to being data hubs and wifi routers, we’ve also included customization options…”

Harry’s breath tickles the back of Merlin’s neck. Eggsy clasps Merlin’s knee for balance when he reaches out to fiddle with the cufflinks. Merlin swats Eggsy’s thieving appendage away, shivers a little at Harry’s “very nice,” and glares at them both as they walk away, identical straight backs in navy-black pinstripe sauntering out the door.

 

ii.

“Galath,” Merlin says into the microphone, one eye on the spectacle feed and one eye on the code he’s writing. “You have forty seconds until the guards pass by.”

The feed gives an up-down twitch of acknowledgment. Merlin leaves him to it for the moment and concentrates on the firewalls. Trickier than expected, at least from what intel had made the place out to be. When Merlin glances up again, Galath has made his way into the stairwell.

“All right.” Merlin double-checks the blueprints, even though both he and Eggsy have memorized the route. “You should be making your way up fourteen stories. Security cameras have been disabled but I haven’t been able to hack my way into the core mainframe yet, I may need physical access. Keep in mind you’ll be missed by your companions if you don’t return within the next fifteen minutes.”

“Love you too,” Galath mumbles, and begins to bound up the stairs three at a time. “Why. Can’t I. Take. The elevator?”

“Complain, complain,” Merlin says, viciously hitting the enter key. “You and Galahad are just the same.”

“Mm?” Galath manages a querying noise. A glimpse of a number flashes by: eight more floors to go.

“Hated stairs,” Merlin says. Aha. _There_ was the promised weakness, the backdoor hidden within all of Intellinet’s protocols. “Always throwing himself out of windows, too. The fool.”

“Not. Going to be. A problem. I’m forty. Stories. Up.”

“Forty one.” Merlin checks the time. “And you have eight minutes left. Get into that office, Galath.”

Eggsy manages to get in and out of the mark’s office fine, planting bugs and plugging Merlin into the system. It’s when he leaves that trouble finds him.

“Oh shit--” is all the warning Merlin gets before the feed whirls.

“If they’ve seen your face, kill them,” Merlin snaps. “If not, incapacitate. I’m working on an exit strategy now--”

“Oi!” Comes a faint cry off the feed. Merlin swears.

“Galath, it was a trap, they hired mercenaries, get out of there _now_ \--”

When he sees what Eggsy is looking at, he stops.

“Oh no. Don’t you dare--”

Eggsy grabs a paperweight off the desk, flings it at the window, and throws his body out right after.

Merlin clutches his head, wishing he had hair to grasp in his fists.

 

iii.

“If I find your boy’s dog under my desk _one more time_ ,” Merlin says. He sips his tea -- a peace offering from Harry, brewed just the way he likes it -- and props his hip against the briefing table.

“Surely it isn’t so bad.” Galahad scrawls something on the form in front of him with a flourish. Merlin wonders idly if it’s worth bringing up the idea of going paperless again; despite all evidence to the contrary, Harry does have some traditions he’s rather loathe to leave.

“It’s presence isn’t a problem,” Merlin concedes. “It’s what happens because of it. Half my office is infatuated with the little beast. The other half is infatuated with the boy.” (Who is also a little beast, though Merlin doesn’t say that to Harry’s face.)

“Not a boy any longer.” Merlin’s heart beats a little harder when Harry looks up. He still isn’t used to the way Harry’s brow is intersected by a vicious scar, still red and faintly inflamed, running from his hairline to underneath what everybody has been covertly calling a “Fury eyepatch,” whatever that means. When Merlin expressed his confusion to Lancelot’s handler Naomi, she gave him a look of pity and told him to get out more.

“Yes, well.” Merlin rolls his eyes. “You wouldn’t know it to look at him, eh?”

“I’ve been… rectifying the matter.”

“Ha.” Merlin nearly snorts up his tea. “I’ve noticed. The whole building’s noticed. If you don’t tone it down, _dogs_ will start noticing you marking your territory.”

At Harry’s faint flush, Merlin smirks. “Not that I blame you,” he continues slyly. “Cuts a fine figure, he does.”

Harry steals Merlin’s mug and takes a sip, smiling brazen as anything. “Glad you’ve been paying attention.”

And that’s when Merlin realizes: he’s been thinking about this all wrong.

 

iv.

Naturally, Galath’s next assignment is a honeypot. He and Lancelot go in as a couple; the target likes his men repressed and taken, only one of his many unsavory qualities. Unfortunately he also like his men young, which rules out any other agent currently on the roster.

“Now, Lancelot,” Harry murmurs. He’s seated next to Merlin, Galath’s and Lancelot’s feeds on two separate monitors. “Take Galath’s arm, put your hand on his -- good. And Galath, tense up just a bit and -- perfect, just right. Hold for moment and disengage. Can you see your target?”

“Across the room, northwest corner,” Merlin says. “To your right. Navy suit with grey, silver tie -- there you go.”

Galath’s feed lingers on him.

“Winston Landers,” Merlin says. “MP of a small constituency in the north, suspected to be the contact of an illegal arms smuggling ring operating out of the UK. Here with his wife, two children at home. Confirmed three instances of infidelity, all with men of Galath’s general description, all at events like this, all when the other party had a plus one.”

“What a fuckin’ arse,” Galath mutters. Lancelot breathes out what might be a huff of suppressed laughter.

“Quite,” Merlin agrees. “But we need to get his attention.”

“Yeah, I’m not so good at acting repressed.” Galath accepts a drink from a passing waiter. “Dunno ‘bout you lot, but I’m perfectly comfortable with my sexuality, thanks.”

“Which is why I’m here to coach you through it.” Deserts are drier than Harry’s voice. “Do focus, please, Galath.”

“Yessir,” Galath mumbles. Lancelot does laugh this time, though she restrains it to something airy and polite, like Galath has made a particularly fine joke.

“You need to get his attention.” Merlin pulls up various feeds of the room and the grounds. “Move in.”

They work their way across the room, mingling and chit-chatting. Merlin keeps up a murmured commentary of who the two agents are talking to; Galahad feeds them lines. As soon as Galath is interacting with the other partygoers, his voice goes from South London to something that could polish glass.

Merlin mutes his mic for a moment while they go forage for food. “Impressive work with the accent.”

Harry covers his own mic with a hand. “Thank you. He has an impressive talent for mimicry.”

“I’d noticed,” Merlin says, deadpan, but then a security camera feed catches his attention. “Lancelot,” he says, tapping his earpiece. “Make yourself scarce. Landers just noticed Galath.”

Lancelot leans in to kiss Galath’s cheek and whispers into his ear. “Sure thing, Merlin. Good luck, Galath. Better you than me.”

She pulls back fast enough for them to catch the twitch of discomfort on his face. Merlin smirks; Harry nods. “Well done, Lancelot.”

She flicks her head as if she’s flipping her hair, the deliberate movement of _acknowledge, thanks_ , and then moves off as if to find another drink.

“Keep walking,” Merlin says, still glued to the security cameras. “Don’t look at Landers. He’s to your right, ahead, about two o’clock. Look left, now, like you’re scanning for somebody you know--good. Now right, give him a look of your face.”

“‘s all this really necessary,” Galath mutters. His feed pans across the room, passing over Landers; Landers is definitely looking.

“Yes,” Merlin says. “You aren’t a rent boy. You’re a repressed, upstanding member of society.”

“Bein’ a chav’s easier than this--” He shuts up abruptly as another person passes by. “...Why can’t we just tranq him, again?”

“We don’t want to raise any suspicion, Galath, we’ve been over this.” Harry sounds much more patient than Merlin would. “Now, head in Landers’ direction. Pick somebody near him.”

As Galath insinuates himself into Landers’ vicinity, Merlin checks on Lancelot. Her glasses are hanging from the door of a bathroom stall and she’s half out of her evening gown.

“Status update.” Merlin waits politely for her to step out of her dress before speaking.

“You should make a convertible push-up to sports bra.” Lancelot adjusts her chest. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to do anything with these in the way.”

Merlin sighs. “I’ll take it under advisement. You know what you have to do?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll be following your progress on the security feeds. Let me know if you need any assistance.”

“Will do.”

Merlin leaves her and checks back in on Galath.

“Not at all,” Harry is murmuring, and Galath echoes the words exactly, intones them _exactly_ as Harry does. “I’m sure you’re quite capable.”

Landers is obviously fascinated. Merlin can see why: Galath’s attraction is genuine, the way his body reacts a perfect example of hidden desire. What Landers doesn’t know is that Galath is responding to Harry rather than himself.

Merlin breathes out through his nose, half exasperated, half admiring. Galahad in the field was one of the most creative and ruthless agents Merlin had ever worked with, and it’s both reassuring and a bit frightening to know that he hasn’t lost his edge.

Harry has this under control. Merlin can focus his attention on Lancelot.

He loses himself in the security feeds, Harry’s voice a soothing background hum.

 

v.

Some two months after Harry stops being bedridden and obtains -- according to most of Merlin section -- the “coolest eyepatch known to man,” Merlin is about to snap. Galath, the little fucker, has spent the last _three days_ haunting Merlin’s office being the most obnoxious shit he could possibly be.

“Really, Merlin,” Eggsy says in perfect mimicry of Harry’s crisp accent. He even stands the same, weight balanced on the balls of his feet while looking completely relaxed. In a copy of Harry’s suit, with the same styled hair and spectacles, he’s a memory come to life.

“If you don’t leave in the next twenty seconds, I will make your life a misery,” Merlin promises, hunching over his keyboard. If he looks at Eggsy he’ll either kiss or kill him, and Harry will be happy with neither option.

“Come on now,” Har--Eggsy coaxes, and Merlin glares daggers at the pdf open on his screen. What has he done to deserve this? No, actually, _what?_

Harry doesn’t miraculously appear to enlighten him.

“Go bother Galahad,” Merlin grunts. “I’m busy.”

“I’m not,” Eggsy says, and somehow it flips a switch in Merlin’s brain. He thinks back to that time in the briefing room, the sly curve of Harry’s lips, his own minor revelation, and looks up, looks into Eggy’s glasses, and says--

“Harry? What the _hell_ d’you think you’re doing?”

 

“This is absolutely not what these rooms were designed for,” Merlin says. The protests are a formality; he’s got his hands grasped tight around Eggy’s slim hips, his eyes locked on Eggsy’s through his spectacles.

Eggsy is rather more worked up than Merlin’s actions would warrant. Merlin would bet anything that Harry is purring instructions into Eggy’s ear, voice low and dark, rich with anticipation -- would bet that Eggsy is getting off on obeying his mentor’s every word.

A slow flush steals its way across Eggy’s cheekbones.

“Harry,” Merlin drawls. “If you’re going to share your toys, do it properly.”

“Oi,” Eggsy protests, but then snaps his mouth shut. The flush on his face deepens. Merlin is _intensely_ curious about what Harry is saying.

“Well?” Merlin is close enough now to see Eggsy’s pupils dilate, to smell that he’s _wearing Harry’s cologne_ \--

Merlin and Harry slept together, once, in their youth. It was a harsh affair, mouths and hands greedy and bruising, a result of whisky and fatigue and grief. This is nothing like that, but Merlin finds himself comparing Eggsy’s hot, yielding mouth to another’s, the way Eggsy sucks on his tongue half-familiar, the way Eggsy moans and gasps, _”Merlin_ \--”

“Galahad,” Merlin says, hoarse.

“You called?” Eggsy’s hips jerk even as arms wrap around Merlin’s waist, Harry’s body a long line of heat pressed up against Merlin’s back. A chin is hooked over his shoulder; he can feel Harry’s cheek dimple against his neck as the other man smiles.

“You sneaky--” Merlin begins, but is cut off with Harry’s “Kiss him again, Eggsy,” and Eggsy’s eager obedience.

When they come up for air Eggsy’ mouth is slick and red, lips parted. An arm slides itself under Merlin’s, and one of Harry’s fingers comes to rest under Eggsy’s chin. Tilts the boy’s head up, pulls him forward.

Merlin must, must take a half-step to the side and twist to watch Harry and Eggsy kiss, twinned forms in bespoke suits that flatter every long line of their bodies; Harry lets him go easily and Eggsy practically forgets he’s there, panting for Harry’s touch. There’s a flicker of Harry’s eye at Merlin, a quick wink--

And Harry kicks it up about a hundred notches.

Eggsy makes a small shocked, wounded noise as Harry pins him against the wall with a thigh between his legs, hands scrabbling along the back of Harry’s coat, wrinkling it. His hips press forward in involuntary reaction, back arching -- and as Harry pulls away from Eggsy’s mouth to bite his way down his neck, Merlin is finally treated to Eggsy’s uncoached voice.

“Harry, Harry please, you said--”

“I know what I said, darling.” Harry sounds completely unaffected, and the easy way words roll off his lips has Merlin pressing the palm of his hand against his crotch. “But this is for Merlin’s benefit.”

“You shouldn’t have.” Merlin’s voice is too rough to be sarcastic.

“I know how you like to watch.” Harry presses his knee upwards as Eggsy grinds down with a whine. “Galahad and Galath, at your service.”

“And what did I do to deserve this?” It’s half-serious; Merlin has no idea why Harry and Eggsy want to, for lack of a better term, _show off_ for him.

“You--nn, _Harry_ \--y’really don’t know?” Eggsy tilts his head up, gasping. “Jesus fuckin’ christ, mate--”

“What Eggsy is so articulately trying to say.” There’s a faint tremor in Harry’s voice now; his control is cracking. Merlin feels like his self-discipline disappeared three weeks ago, when Harry smirked at him over a cup of tea and Eggsy did the exact same thing a day later. “Is that we like you, Merlin.”

Merlin thinks about this. Looks at the two of them, gorgeous and writhing and offering him his wet dreams, if he had wet dreams anymore, on a platter--

“--get on with it, then.”

Harry laughs, and does.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I TRIED, OKAY. I'm sorry that sex didn't explicitly happen, this fic got away from me. Things that somehow didn't make it in, even though I wanted them: an extended scene of Eggsy first adopting Harry's manner of speech, then little gestures that Harry used, then Harry's walk and general posture; a long and loving description of Harry and Eggsy over/on top of each other in their identical suits, writhing against each other with similar movements, Eggsy mirroring every move Harry makes as they put on a show for Merlin. SORRY THAT DIDN'T HAPPEN, YOU CAN IMAGINE IT IN YOUR HEAD.
> 
> pushthequorumbutton @ tumblr  
> quorumbutton @ gmail


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